Wedding vows
by splotdog
Summary: Post-Reichenbach, established Johnlock relationship. Short one shot (as seems to be my forté at the moment).


"You surprised me, John Watson. I didn't think it was possible, but you did it. You surprised me by moving in with me and instantly becoming part of my life- no questions asked. You surprised me by loving me, and enabling me to love you. And you surprised me fifteen months and twenty two days ago when you pulled a ring out of that ridiculous (and rather hideous) brown suit jacket of yours and asked me to marry you." Sherlock didn't say the 'rather hideous' part, but it was implied. He was more than grateful that John had surmised to his pleas to dispose of the suit and _finally_ let Sherlock go shopping for one with him. Admittedly, it had taken the best part of three years, and the suit hadn't so much been burned as Sherlock would have liked as simply given to charity. It gave Sherlock chills to think some poor person (surely blind because who in their right minds would buy a _brown_, _third-hand_ suit?) may be walking around in that abomination. Maybe even wearing it on first dates, as John had, and wondering why it was that he was still _single_. Perhaps Sherlock should be glad for the suit for that one fact. He'd hate to imagine John with any one other than himself and if the suit had played any part in getting him to where he was today it wasn't anything short of a saint(note- not a martyr. To be a martyr you had to be dead, and as previously mentioned, John had refused to burn the damned suit).

"Fifteen months." Sherlock repeated, glancing down at the ring he was rubbing up and down his finger, a nervous habit. A nervous habit he was rather glad to have because it meant he was actually wearing a ring on his finger- and of course, it was a tangible reminder of the bearer of that ring. "Do you remember what you said, that night? I should hope you do. I promise you there's a rather large room installed solely for the purpose of remembering that particular night in my mind. You told me that we were getting married because it was convenient- which I suppose was quite correct… Yes, you told me it would be convenient, and that it would mean everyone knew. You said you wanted to 'show-off your show-off'." He can't help but smile a little at the memory. He closes his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing; "You wanted to get married, but you didn't want a wedding. A sentiment I shared. We were not going to be - oh, what were your words? - we were not 'going to be one of those couples that makes a parade of it all'. I don't think you'd have proposed if there was another way to go about it. I'm glad you did though, something I've probably neglected to mention before now. However, John, I am incredibly glad you proposed because-" he scrunched up his nose, disgusted at his own display of what could only be classed as pure and utter 'sentiment'. "-it was all you. And it was romantic. And it was us. And, yes, I am thoroughly glad you did it."

Sherlock licks his dry lips with his dry tongue- why is he so damn nervous? He finally allows himself to look up and properly _look_ at the man standing in front of him. John, staring at Sherlock in awe, as the detective tries to force out the words he's always wanted to say. Because if there is any time a man is allowed to be truly honest, and soppy, and yes, okay, sentimental, it's his wedding day. And the fact that his brother ("Really John, you want my _brother_ to be at our wedding?" "Sherlock he's your _brother_ and, besides, we need someone to sign as our witness." "I don't see you inviting Harry as the second witness though, do I?" "That's because I've already invited Mrs Hudson.") is currently watching him with a look that can only be described as facetiously constipated is completely irrelevant. All that matters is John, _his_ John is currently standing in front of him, and John's eyes are on his, and Sherlock and John are about to be honest-to-God married. "You were determined that we would be married within the month. That was what you said. Because you didn't want to be engaged, you wanted to be _married_. It was so wonderfully direct. Straightforward, even" He shifts uncomfortably and his gaze falls back down the ring on his finger. Within the month, that was what John had wanted. "I suppose, therefore, this-" he gestured in the air when he says 'this', as if that is a sufficient depiction of everything "-is all about fifteen months overdue. For that I am sorry, John. I do hope you know that, too. I am sorry. I swear I don't plan on leaving you ever, _ever_ again." Mrs Hudson lets out a small huff of air and Sherlock winces a little in understanding. It hadn't just been John he'd left when he's jumped off that damn roof, had it?

"And now, I fear, I've been going on too long. And while I'm sure Mycroft is capable of impressive enterprises- I doubt he can keep this registry office available forever." He tries to ignore the way Mycroft's eyebrows raise at the word 'impressive'. It's been far too long and Sherlock is far too tired to engage in any sort of conversation with his brother and his disgustingly large ego. "I shall keep my final words short. You, John Watson, are a greater man than I could ever be. You are my best friend, you are the love of my life, and you are- my Polaris. My guiding star, the brightest light, everything. And I'm so very sorry it's taken so damn long but I do intend to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if that is quite all right with you. And finally, John Watson, I am obliged to ask- will you marry me?"

And John's lips part.

And the word is forming, and his eyes are glowing, and Mrs Hudson is beyond the point of tears, and Mycroft has never looked so bloody pleased- and then everything starts to fall apart. White light starts to creep in from the edges, bleeding in and tearing the dream apart. And the last thing Sherlock can see is John, his beautiful John. And he can see him saying it- he's saying it! But that is it. That is the closest Sherlock Holmes can get to his fiancé, for now.

It has been fifteen months and three weeks since that infernal day on the roof, since Sherlock last saw John.

No more.


End file.
